Azrael
by Warcrow
Summary: AU.Betrayed by the elves,sought by the Istari,Aragorn is on his own. As Isildur's Heir begins a descent into darkness,Legolas, along with the people of middle-earth, must struggle to hold on to their world.Full Summary inside.


**-Azrael -**

**By:** Warcrow

**Rating: **R

**Disclaimer: **Sadly, I don't own any part of Tolkien's worlds or characters. Any thing recognizable is his; anything else has sprung from my twisted mind, and is therefore mine.

**Summary: AU. **Betrayed by the Elves to a torturous death, hunted by the Dunédain, and sought by the Istari, Aragorn son of Arathorn is alone. After a desperate chase ending before the Black Gates, Isildur's Heir escapes into Mordor, dangerously close to becoming what he hates the most. With the One Ring hidden from him, and backed by the Night Children, the last of an ancient race of dark Elves, Aragorn is driven to plunge Middle-Earth into the greatest war it has ever seen.

With time running out for everyone, Isildur's Heir embarks upon the perilous path to fulfill his dark destiny.

**Time Frame: **Takes place at the same time as the original LOTR would, beginning a few weeks before FOTR.

**WARNINGS:**

**If you dislike torture, angst or gore and action, please back out now. Also, please note, Aragorn is NOT evil in this story, though it may at first seem so.**

**Chapter 1:**

**So Rises the Darkness **

Legolas drew back silently from the edge of the cliff, withdrawing to where Elladan and Elrohir waited.

He motioned to them, and then slid back into the tunnel from whence they had arrived. In the darkness, the trio settled, and Legolas began to speak.

"This cliff overlooks the Southern entrance to the goblin lair." The twins nodded; this they knew. They were above the headquarters of a raiding band, and they, along with their patrols, the Dunedain and the aid of Gandalf, had been charged with its destruction.

"The guard on the entrance tunnel is light," continued Legolas, "and once were have penetrated, there will be few obstacles." He glanced back at the tow brothers, gauging their reaction. They were smiling, and so he spoke softly, "It is, however, vital, that your men kill the guards silently."

Elladan and Elrohir nodded, and Legolas clapped each on the shoulder, before turning to leave.

"Legolas," called Elladan softly, "remember the signal." Legolas said nothing, and vanished out onto the cliff top.

The twins did not move; Legolas needed time to get into position. At length Elrohir turned to brother, shaking his head sadly, to which Elladan replied, "I know, El. He's been different since Estel went." He glanced back up the narrow tunnel, at the night sky.

"We all have."

Legolas picked his way nimbly along the cliff top until he came to a chimney of rock. He eased his way down into it, and began a careful descent.

The night sky was clear and star speckled, the air calm and crisp.

_Estel loved the stars._

The thought leapt unbidden to his mind, and he pushed it away. His friend was gone, and memories of him brought only pain.

For a moment he stopped climbing, for his hands were shaking._ It was the elves who betrayed him. It was your people who sold him out. Your own father engineered the plot that killed him. _

Ruthlessly crushing the voice in head, the wood elf resumed the climb. He reached the ground with little trouble; hand and foot holds were plentiful.

The tunnel entrance to the goblin caves was some way up a gentle slope of rock to his left, and he ignored it, ghosting along the base of the cliff until he glimpsed his men, crouched in the shadows behind and above the tunnel.

Raising cupped hands to his mouth, he howled.

Two silent figures dropped simultaneously from the rock above the tunnel mouth. The elves landed without a sound behind the duo of goblin sentries.

There was a hiss of blades leaving their sheaths, and the goblins were pulled backwards as knives sliced across their throats. Hands were clamped over their mouths, and the elves dragged their frantically struggling charges into the shadow of the rock face.

The goblins' struggling grew less, and their legs kicked out feebly. Movement gradually ceased, and the corpses were lowered to the ground in pools of their own blood.

Legolas broke into a loping run up the sloping rock, and streams of elves poured from concealment. They crept down the cliff, like a great, silent mass of spiders.

Legolas reached the tunnel entrance with the first of the soldiers, and they slipped into the opening, shadows among the deeper dark.

The elf prince's fingers curled about the hilts of his knives, and they slid from their sheaths at his back. Blades were being drawn about him, and the wood elf felt a rush of adrenalin.

Intelligence on the inside of the goblin lair was non-existent. What awaited them at the end of this tunnel? A maze? A single, huge cavern? More likely a honeycomb of pockmarked passages.

Light, dim and flickering, seeped down through a distant opening. The horde moved nearer.

The column of elves exploded into a huge cavern, filled with milling goblins .Blades sang, and it took a moment for the goblins to even register that they were being attacked.

The prisoner lay still. His face was streaked with cold sweat and dirt. His eyes were blackened, lips split and torn, and his left cheek was marred by a hideous abrasion.

The stubble of the light beard about his jaw was darkened, engrained with dirt and blood.

He wore naught but a pair of filthy leggings, torn and the knees and soaked in half-dried blood. His bare chest was heavily bruised, and etched with deep lacerations, the blood from which had dried upon his skin.

He was tall, lean and well muscled, but with the powerful shoulders and arms of a swordsman.

He was housed in a cramped cave, outside of which stood a trio of goblin guards, heavily armed. Behind them, on the wall, hung what appeared to be the man's weapons. A long-sword, with a two handed hilt, was pegged alongside a pair of rangers' boots, and an elven recurve bow, with full quiver, beautifully engraved and embroidered with eagles.

His bare torso was crusted with dried blood, and several deep gashes were visible across his chest. His lips were torn and split, and blood crusted the stubble beard about his jaw. His eyes were black, and his left cheek was marred by a hideous abrasion.

His torso, arms and face were streaked with dirt and cold sweat. The young man's hair hung lank and tangled. He wore naught but a pair of tattered leggings, torn at the knees, darkened with dried blood. His bootless feet were filthy. On his chest were visible burns and deep lacerations.

The cell in which he resided was tiny. It was big enough only for the man to lie on his back or side, legs straight. His feet pressed against the barred door, and water dripped from the frigid rock about the prone figure.

The clash and ring of steel upon steel sounded in the cavern above him. Mercurial eyes flared open.

Legolas whipped his knives across the stomach of a goblin, disemboweling it, then thrust forwards, spearing the creature's chest with both blades.

A cry of warning sounded to his left, and the wood elf lashed out with his foot, spinning to follow the kick. His blade licked out, opening the throat of a brutish orc at his back.

Ducking beneath a flailing scimitar, the elf prince lashed out once more with his foot, taking the legs from beneath his prey.

His blade awaited it as it fell, entering the left eye socket with the sound of a dagger being sheathed. Blood spurted over Legolas hands.

The prisoner screamed in fury, hurling himself at the guard before him. A second goblin rushed up behind him, and the young man ducked beneath a wild blow, he leapt high, spinning like a dancer, and his foot cracked against the goblin's skull. It fell without a sound. The creature he had tackled had regained consciousness, and reared up at his back.

In a single move, the human whirled, his arm locking about the neck of his assailant. He kicked off the wall, turning his body in a tight pirouette over the head of the goblin, still in his grasp. A sickening crunch was heard, and the beast arched back, then dropped to the ground as it was released.

The young man turned, reaching up for his weapons. His fingers curled slowly about the hilt of his blade, and he yanked it from the wall.

"Prisoners!" hollered Legolas. "We need prisoners!"

Elladan took up the call, and soon the decimated goblins were being herded into the centre of the cavern, ringed by elves.

The drab walls of the cavern were sprayed with blood at their base, and corpses littered the floor. Elves moved amongst them, dispatching the living. The only area remaining to be searched was a small tunnel. It lead down and away from the cavern, into the depths of the mountain.

The elf prince sidled over to where Elrohir and Elladan stood, talking with a number of officers. They were discussing the figures of the dead and wounded.

Tapping the older twin on the shoulder, Legolas drew him away from the group with an apology.

"There remains a side tunnel over there," he said, pointing it out. "I suggest a full scale attack, rather than a reconnaissance. They will easily pick us off in small groups." The dark haired elf glanced at the passage, then nodded slowly.

"Elrohir!" he called, "Gather the men!" Elrond's son turned back to Legolas. But the prince was not looking.

He was staring at the tunnel entrance, where a solitary figure had appeared. It was a young man, and one who looked hauntingly familiar.

He was tall, well-muscled, with the powerful shoulders and arms of a swordsman. Blood seeped from numerous lacerations to his torso and arms, but Elladan could tell that they were mostly old, but infected.

Black dirt and sweat streaked his skin, and his bruised face was encrusted with blood and engrained with filth, with clung to the abrasion along his jawline. It clung also to the burns upon his hairless chest.

His bare feet were blackened and bleeding, and his leggings were no more than loose, torn trews, held up by a tattered belt. It was however, still distinguishable as elven in make.

A long – sword hung between his shoulder blades, and on top of this rested an elven quiver, dirtied, but well stocked with shafts. A double recurve bow was strapped between this and the sword.

The leather thongs binding these to the man cut across his sculpted chest.

Elladan was jerked from his observations as an archer to his left drew and let fly.

When the man moved, it was incredibly swift. Even as the arrow took him in the shoulder, his left hand swept out. From it flashed something bright.

He throwing knife thudded home in the archer's eye socket. The young man wrenched the shaft from his shoulder, and blood poured down his chest, soaking into his trews.

The warrior's blade hissed from its sheath, and it's master stepped forward, mercurial eyes hollow and dead.

Aragorn son of Arathorn swung the blade in a dizzying series of arcs, loosening his shoulders, then brought it up to his face. The tip clanged against the ground as he let it fall, hands still upon the hilt.

"Hello, Peredhil."


End file.
